


Let The Water Lead Us Home

by aneedleofmyown



Series: Home [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ADWD spoilers, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Healing, Reunions, Revenge, Romance, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension, rating may change to explicit let's see where this goes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-01-30
Updated: 2013-01-30
Packaged: 2017-11-27 14:41:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneedleofmyown/pseuds/aneedleofmyown
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Gendry took another long, hard look at her face. She couldn't be... She seemed too old, too pretty. The girl he'd been silently searching for all these years was somehow still an eleven year-old girl, pretending to be a boy. The girl in front of him was closer to a woman than he had ever thought to expect. And yet, her eyes...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let The Water Lead Us Home

**Author's Note:**

> So, after much debate (primarily with myself), I finally decided to give in and write a full-length Arya/Gendry fic. Though, to be honest, I have no idea how long this will end up being. It may turn out to be more of a short story, but the point is that it will have multiple chapters. (Yay.) I decided to set the beginning of the story a few months after the events in my fic The Hour of The Wolf. That fic serves as a sort of prequel to this one, but it's not necessary to read it to understand what's going on. Also, this story will be told from both Arya and Gendry's POV, so Arya's chapter will be up next. Also, also: some of the ages have been... tampered with. But nothing too crazy, I promise. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

The steel hissed in Gendry's hand as he shoved the sword tip into a bucket of tepid water. Hammer in one hand, steel in the other, he laid the blade back on the anvil in front of him, pounding at it with just the right combination of power and precision.

Holding the steel up for examination, Gendry was pleased to see that the weapon was shaping up nicely. It had been years since he'd started his apprenticeship under Tobho Mott, but it still surprised him every now and then to see how far he'd come.

He was a long way from King's Landing now, though, and he was an apprentice no longer. Looking around the forge, he was proud to call it his own. The space was small and cluttered, but Gendry was efficient in his work. Of course, working for the forge of the Inn of the Crossroads, most of the work he saw was reshoeing horses and the like. But considering he was never supposed to have ended up here in the first place, he was willing to take what he could get.

When the world outside began to darken until there was no light left in the forge but that of the furnace, Gendry finally decided to put down his hammer. He allowed himself a moment to stretch, rubbing at the tight knots that had formed in his shoulders. He was exhausted, but all the same, he'd always take the aches of a hard day's work over what was about to come.

The noise hit him like a wallop to the face as he entered the inn's common room. Several men sat around the long main table, shouting for the innkeep and making ribald jests as Jeyne attempted to keep their mugs filled with ale. She shot Gendry a weary look as he made his way to a more secluded table; he tried his best to smile at her, but smiles no longer came as naturally to him as they once had.

He'd barely taken his seat when Willow appeared in front of him with a trencher of soup, and a smirk on her lips. He sighed as the familiar ache set in at seeing the young girl; she had always been a constant reminder of... well, of someone he'd spent years trying to forget. He didn't even trust himself to think her name. Though, looking at Willow in front of him, he supposed he should stop thinking of her as a “young girl.” It had been nearly five years since he'd taken up smithing for the inn, and she was nearly five-and-ten now.

“Is that for me?” Gendry asked, gesturing to the trencher in her hands. “Or have you just come to tease me with it?”

She wrinkled her nose at him and said, “Maybe I brought it with me to mask the smell of you.”

Making him laugh was no small feat, but the girl had always had an easier time with it than most. Chuckling, he grabbed the soup from her hands with no more than a “Give it here,” and took a spoonful in his mouth. The soup was watery and unseasoned, with little more than potatoes and carrots to give it flavor; but it was hot, and it warmed him from the inside out.

“You're such an animal,” Willow said, laughing at his enthusiasm.

Gendry made a face at her. “Aren't you supposed to stay in the kitchen?”

She frowned at that. “Only because Jeyne likes having all the attention to herself.”

“You know that's not true.” The truth was, Willow had helped Jeyne serve the patrons for years, up until the men started to take notice of her. It hadn't taken more than a couple incidents of some more hands-on patrons getting too friendly for Jeyne to send Willow to work back in the kitchen with the other orphans. Willow had protested- quite loudly, too- at being “exiled” by her own sister, but Jeyne would not budge. “You're only a child,” she'd said, not unkindly. “And most of the lot that we get in here won't care about that. _You'll stay in the kitchens_.” And that had been the end of that.

Willow still didn't approve of the arrangement, however, as evidenced by her impatient sigh. “Stop defending her,” she sulked. “You know, I think she actually _likes_ it when the men pinch her-”

“Willow, what are you doing out here?” Jeyne appeared at her side, taking her elbow in hand and whispering sharply in her ear.

The girl rolled her eyes in response. “Relax,” she said, jerking her arm free. “I only came out to give Gendry his supper, seeing as you were so...-” here, she eyed the table of drunken men- “busy.”

Jeyne narrowed her eyes, but merely said, “Go back to the kitchen, Willow.”

“But why-”

“Dammit,” Jeyne snapped, “you _know_ why. I won't even tell you how many times some of those men have 'accidentally' grabbed at my tits tonight. And you're a sight younger and prettier than I am, so just... please. Do what I say and go back to the kitchen. The others will need your help.”

Willow, apparently finding no response to that, finally walked back toward the kitchen, looking shamed. The two of them watched her go before Jeyne gave a great sigh and sank down into the chair opposite him. Gendry took another mouthful of the soup as he watched her. She looked exhausted. Unlike Willow, Jeyne was actually older than he was, if only by a few years. She had worry lines between her brows, and her hands were dry and cracked from constantly cleaning dishes or washing the orphans' clothing down in the river.

“You're pretty, too,” he told her, breaking the silence between them.

She'd been smoothing her brow with her fingers, but now she looked up at him. “What?”

“You said Willow's too pretty to be working out here,” he clarified. “But you're pretty, too.” And it was true. Granted, Jeyne was no exotic or incredible beauty; but her dark hair shone in the sun and her eyes were kind, albeit tired more often than not.

“Oh, Gendry,” she said, sounding even more tired. “That's sweet, but I'm just not in the mood tonight. I'm sorry.”

Gendry felt his face flush at her words, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Oh, that's- that's not what I meant. I just- You're pretty. You shouldn't talk down about yourself, is all.”

Jeyne's smiles were even rarer than his own, but she gave him one now. “You're one to talk. Talking down about yourself is just about all you do outside your forge.”

“That's not all I do,” he tried to tease, though he didn't deny her accusation.

“No,” she conceded, “I guess not.” She paused for a moment before asking, “Have you heard anything from the Brotherhood lately?”

Gendry nodded, spooning the last dregs of the soup into his mouth. “They're supposed to pass by here in a few days.”

“I guess it would be stupid of me to bother asking if you're going to go with them,” Jeyne said, examining her hands.

Despite her refusing to say so out loud, he knew what she thought of the Brotherhood. She might even be right, but he couldn't turn his back on them now. What other purpose did he have, if not to serve them? “Lord Berric knighted me, Jeyne. He gave me a chance at...” He closed his eyes for a moment, and there was a flash of dark hair and bright grey eyes. Clearing his throat, he started over. “He gave me a chance at things that a bastard like me should never get the chance to do or have. I'm not giving up on that just because he's gone.”

Jeyne was silent for a long moment, and Gendry finally remembered that they were in the middle of a crowded inn. “I understand, Gendry,” she finally told him, standing up from her seat to leave. Before she stepped away, though, she briefly turned back to face him. “But maybe you should think about what the Lightning Lord left for you to follow in his stead.” And then she was gone.

Gendry sat there, alone at his table, feeling an unpleasant mixture of annoyance and self-doubt. He couldn't completely deny that Jeyne had a point. Lady Stoneheart was much more... ruthless than Dondarrion had ever been. But what did it matter? At the end of the day, the men they took were all Lannisters, and killing Lannisters was no crime- not after everything that family had done. He took a long drag from his mug of ale, trying to clear his head.

The noise inside the tavern was almost at a ridiculous level, now, the men more drunk and riled than ever. But that didn't keep Gendry from noticing the front door opening to let in yet another traveler. The figure was hooded, their frame lithe and small, making him think in surprise that it must be a woman under the cloak. Whoever she was, she simply stood at the front counter, waiting. Her figure was so still that he wondered if she was even breathing. Looking back toward Jeyne, he saw that she had her hands full tending to the loud group of men in the center of the room. Willow, of course, was in the back, cooking and cleaning with the other orphans. That left him to tend to the stranger.

Draining his mug in a single motion, Gendry made his way behind the counter. “What can I do for you, miss?” Her face remained in shadow, hidden by the hood of her cloak, but he could hear the woman take a sharp breath at his arrival. Apart from that, she was silent.

“Miss?” he asked, after a moment, feeling suddenly uncomfortable. “If you're looking for a room, I'm sorry but we're full up.”

She only nodded at that, a stiff, jerky movement.

“Are you alright?” he asked, not knowing what to make of the strange woman beneath the cloak.

“Yes,” she finally said, speaking in a soft voice. “Thank you, I'm fine.” He heard her blow out a long breath before she reached up- were her hands shaking?- and lowered her hood.

Gendry felt as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He sucked in a sharp breath when he saw the woman's face. She was young, he could see, maybe about six-and-ten; barely a woman at all. And she was beautiful, in a way that not many women were. Her figure was petite and graceful, her dark hair long and wild, looking as though it hadn't seen a comb in a long while. But her beauty was not what shocked him; it was her eyes. Silvery grey and stormy, hiding such depths as he couldn't fathom. He'd seen eyes like that before, in a younger face, and many years ago. And that girl was dead.

“What's your name?” Gendry found himself asking her, his voice merely a breath on his lips.

The girl's eyebrows came together for a moment before her features smoothed into a calm, blank expression. “Some people call me Cat,” she told him, looking him dead in the eye.

Gendry felt disappointment claw at his chest, as well as anger at himself. What name had he thought she would give? There had been a time when every girl with dark hair and grey eyes was _her_ , but that was years ago now. He'd given up on the foolish hope that she was still alive somewhere; she wasn't.

“Right,” he said, his stomach churning sickly. “Well, like I said, we've no rooms left to let out. I'm afraid you'll have to find shelter elsewhere.”

She looked at him for a long moment, and he felt as though she could see his every thought, every emotion. Her eyes stripped him bare, and for some reason, he suddenly felt ashamed. “Alright,” she said, finally looking away and biting down on her bottom lip.

Gendry stared at her mouth, feeling like he'd been struck all over again. It was something _she_ used to do, something he was sure she still would have done even now. But before he had time to say anything more, the girl was walking away, and out into the cold night.

Stupidly, he followed her.

She was already halfway out into the woods when Gendry caught up to her. “Wait,” he called out to her, but she didn't turn around or slow down; if anything, she quickened her pace. “Hey!” he exclaimed, jogging to catch up with her. When he grabbed her arm, she whirled on him, her eyes flashing in the darkness. The only light he had to see her with was that of the moon, and her wild hair shone under its rays.

“Let go of me,” she hissed through clenched teeth, trying to jerk her arm out of his grip. His fingers tightened around her elbow in response.

Gendry took another long, hard look at her face. She couldn't be... She seemed too old, too pretty. The girl he'd been silently searching for all these years was somehow still an eleven year-old girl, pretending to be a boy. The girl in front of him was closer to a woman than he had ever thought to expect. And yet, her eyes...

“Who are you?” he asked, his voice gone hoarse with a desperate hope.

“No one,” she answered immediately- almost as if without thinking- her eyes and her expression gone completely blank. After a moment, though, she blinked, looking confused. “I mean... I already told you; I'm called Cat.”

Involuntarily, his hands clenched even tighter around her arm. “And that's your true name?” He could hear the doubt in his own voice. There was a need in him, more primal and essential than anything he'd ever experienced, for this girl to be _the_ girl.

“You think I'm lying to you?” she said derisively.

The doubt inside him grew stronger. He had thought... but if this was her, why would she fight him so? They had been friends once, after all; she would know he'd never hurt her. “I... I don't know.” His fingers slackened their grip and he took a small step back, heart sinking in his chest. He'd thought he was done with this, done with her.

The girl took her arm from his grip, though she did so gently this time. She stared at him for a long moment, and he saw the icy grey depths of her eyes soften into liquid silver. “You stupid,” she whispered, a tenderness in her voice that he'd yet to hear.

Gendry sucked in a ragged breath at her words. The hope that had died just moments before rose up in him afresh, sweeping through him like a consuming fire. “Arya?” he choked. After so long of avoiding even the thought of her name, it felt strange and foreign on his tongue- but, more than that, it felt _right_.

Something in her bearing changed when she heard him speak the name: she seemed taller now, and somehow more real. “Took you long enough,” she said, and he thought he saw tears in her eyes.

Knowing that it was really _her_ , that she was alive and here... he couldn't believe he had almost given up on her. A strangled noise escaped his throat and he pulled her to him, crushing her against his body. She was harder, more muscled than he would have expected, but he was proud of her for it. After a moment of tense surprise, Arya hugged him back, clinging to him almost more fiercely than he did to her. None of it seemed real; Gendry felt as if he couldn't get close enough.

Overwhelmed with emotion, he didn't even think before he took her face in his hands and planted a kiss, hard and fast, to her lips. He'd wanted to kiss her even before she left, yet now that he finally had the chance, the moment fell flat. She froze under his mouth, and he abruptly remembered himself, who he was and- more importantly- who _she_ was. He pulled away almost immediately, taking a step back to try and regain control of himself. His heart was pounding a near deafening rhythm inside his chest, and his breath came in short, small gasps.

Having to distance himself from Arya so soon after getting her back left him feeling cold. The old, familiar anger began to creep up inside him again at her reaction. After all these years, after being knighted and making a name for himself, she still saw him as nothing more than a lowborn bastard. Gendry shook his head, trying to shrug off the niggling feelings of inadequacy. What did any of that matter right now? She was _alive_.

Putting his more unpleasant feelings to the side for now, he gathered Arya in his arms once more. Their embrace was gentle now, unhurried. She could stay there in his arms for the rest of his life, for all he cared. The rest could wait; the explanations, the apologies, the inevitable fighting. But right now, his best friend had finally come home, and he'd be damned if he let anything ruin that.

**Author's Note:**

> So, there you go. I just really got tired of seeing nothing but Modern!Au's in the Arya/Gendry tag on this site (no offense to anyone, but there are just SO MANY omg). So, I really wanted to give a more canon story a try, for those who want one. Anyway, thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Also, comments are actually really fucking fantastic. :)


End file.
